The Probability of the Unexpected – [an extract from an unfinished play]




Explanation: beat stands for a short pause

Scene 8

A bedroom, walls painted blue, blue bed-linen patterned with grey flowers. Grey carpet. Paul sat on the edge of the bed. Anna is sat in the corner of the room. Curled up into a little ball.


Have you ever wondered?

No, but have you? Ever? Really?

Like what would it be like?

If I just made you up to hurt myself?

To have the pain. It’s there. It’s so vivid.

No, actually, I think it’s real.

Not just imaginary. Not just.

Not quite.

There have been several things in my life I’ve been avoiding.

One of them was pain. The fear of it.

Only the fear of it is enough to stop you from doing things.

To get tangled in doubts.

Have you ever thought that… Have you thought that this could be different? We could simply have co-existed. At the same time but… in different realms. Different layers of reality. Different… worlds or that kinda thing.


I think you’re alright. I think it’s alright. I can talk to you. And the moment I open my mouth I feel. Peaceful. The heaviness of responsibility’s fallen of my shoulders. It’s not so bad after all, don’t you think?


Why are you so quiet? You know you’re really quite quiet today. Almost makes me feel… Uncomfortable.


Would you now like to say something? Even if it’s lies. It’s alright, something can come out of it. Just let it go. Let it flow. Don’t be scared. I’m not here to hurt you. You alright? You’re really quiet strange today.

Not that you’re ordinarily not strange but. Beat. Listen. I never meant to do those things.

They just happened. You know, when you find yourself overwhelmed by emotion. Listen! Shhh. Stay quiet. No. Don’t worry. Listen. This is one of those very few times I really want to be heard. Simply heard.

You can disagree. That’s fine. I’d forgive you. I’ve forgiven you for many more things. I know it’s not you. Not your fault. You didn’t do it on purpose. Just been overwhelmed. By emotion. That happens.

I wonder though if you considered why it had to be me? Yes, I guess you didn’t choose it. Not consciously. But on some subconscious level, I guess, you had to go for someone more vulnerable.

Do you want to make love? Cuz’ I think you’d enjoy it. Yeah, I think you would. I know it’s not always your decision. You don’t necessarily choose it. It’s alright, though, it’s fine. Don’t you worry. It’s going to be fine.

Don’t fucking cry. It isn’t that bad after all, is it? I know people hurt you. They hurt you quite badly. But I’m here to protect you. Shhh. Shhh. You’re fine. I’ll sort you out. I’ll sort you out as you have never even dreamt of being sorted. You’ll be absolutely fine.

Listen. I’ve been thinking. What if you gonna die? Well, of course, you will, one day, it’s unavoidable. That’s not what I mean, though. I’m just worried. I would most probably die with you. I find it quite sad. You know, I find the thought of you dying quite sad. I mean, what should it feel like? Closing your eyes and never being able to open them again. Gosh! Quite disturbing…

Lights a cigarette.

I suppose it won’t matter, though. It will not matter I guess cuz’ you won’t feel a thing. They say there is no such thing as an unbearable pain. Cuz’ the moment you cannot bare it you just can’t, isn’t it? You just switch off, you know, like a light bulb.


You listening? Hey, wake up, wake up! Don’t fall asleep. Not just yet. I know I can bore you, can bore you to death, but it’s really important now. I think you should kinda listen. Or try and listen at least. It doesn’t happen every day, you know, doesn’t happen every day that you’d be able to hear this. Ever had a chance to listen to anything like that? No?

So you’d better take it. Take the opportunity. Not asking much, am I? For once you could listen to me. Have I ever asked you to do things for me? Have I? So this is your chance, yeah? Once in a life-time opportunity. Listen! I won’t be repeating myself. Listen, yeah?


Damn. I don’t really know what I want to say. Isn’t that funny? Here I am, living the moment I dreamt of, and I have no idea how to start this. But really, really. Something needs to be said. Too much already. Inside.

It’s wasn’t me, you know? I look back at the things that happened and I wonder… was it really me? Cuz’ I don’t think so. Didn’t feel like me. Must have been someone completely different. Honest. There’s no way it could have been anyone even fucking vaguely similar to what I call myself.

See, I don’t even regret it. Cuz’ I know it wasn’t me. It was someone really worried and anxious, you know, terrified of life. I’m not like that. I’m sorted. So I don’t really take the responsibility for what has happened. Has happened, you see, it hasn’t been done by me. See, I don’t even know what’s happened. If you ask me this very moment, I wouldn’t know what to say.

You know what I always hated? Always hated them people, you know, that would wake up in the morning after a night out and start apologising for things. Things they don’t even remember. But bear immense responsibility for it…. Do you know what I mean? Really fucking hate those.

It’s kinda disturbing. Have you heard of such things? You know, like them going on holiday in Greece or Spain. Getting pissed. Making a fucking mess, terrifying. Decent people, you’d think, normal people, you know, leading decent lives, decent jobs, an occasional pint. They go bloody bonkers. You know, it almost pleases me, the pathetic sight of them apologising. Regretting things they can’t even remember. “God, what have I done? I don’t even know what to say. Jesus Christ, how could it ever…?”

Yeah, I do watch too much TV. Funny thing is that you can’t even see it on normal channels, you know? Can’t read about it on Evening Standard or hear about it on BBC news. You need to check sickipedia, you know, stuff like that. Don’t ask me how I found it. Popped up, accidentally, you know, after five hours of browsing, you never know what kind of stuff you can discover. It’s pretty fascinating, this whole internet business, don’t you think? You got to bear in mind that these kinda jokes don’t come from nowhere. The funniest things, they’re fucking tragedies. Tragic to the point of ridiculous.

You are a bit too, you know. Fucking hate when you do it, you know. Always feeling like it’s my fucking fault that you are so unhappy. Look at me! Look! Fuck…don’t! I feel… your glance. I can feel  it questioning: “What the hell did you do that for? Was it absolutely fucking necessary?” as if… as if I could read your mind. Of course, you don’t say anything, do you? Do you? Why don’t you ever fucking say anything? Am I not worthy of your words? Am I not bright enough to understand?

No, I’m not gonna apologize. You’d enjoy it too fucking much, wouldn’t you? You’d love it: “Poor him, well he didn’t mean it.” Didn’t fucking mean it. Never intended to hurt anyone. After all, it was your own fucking fault. Wasn’t it? You knew it was going to happen. You so knew. You have been expecting, almost anticipating, it, haven’t you? You didn’t care what will it mean to me. All you thought was “I’m gonna fuck him up. Big time.” You were actually… I really fucking think you were fucking relieved when that happened.

Hey! I’m trying to explain things here. Trying to put things back in order, you know. Gotta talk about it. Otherwise it will stay. Forever remain. Like a fucking blood stain on your crisp white shirt.

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